Beautiful Tragedy
by Catori Abbott
Summary: Very depressing. I would like to thank the shower for turning cold on me while I was washing my hair. Oneshot about a Snow Queen taking the life of an innocent peasant boy. No gore or anything extremely explicit.


Her skin was a creamy, colorless white; her eyes were icy blue and without pupils making her seem alien. She smiled with pearly white teeth, perfectly straight. A sheet of white hair cascaded down her back, disappearing under her dark fur coat. The coat dragged across the marble floor that almost matched her skin color.  
The Queen walked forward, shedding her coat which fell to the ground in a heap. She was clad in a royal white dress that would have blended in with her skin if not for the bluish, dead tint of her veins under the surface.  
Her bare feet padded across the floor as she made her way to her victim. The Queen stopped in front of him, smiling without humor. "What is your name?" She asked in a smooth, but strong voice. "P-Peter." The boy stammered, shaking ever-so-slightly. Her expression molded into amusement seamlessly as she stared at him.  
The boy had a mess of red hair and big, sky colored eyes. Dark eyelashes fluttered slightly as he tried to seem unafraid, but the poor boy was no actor. The Queen reached out with a dainty hand, covered in thin white scars, and held her fingers just above his cheek. He flinched as if she had hit him.  
"Do you know why you are here?" She asked. Obediently, the boy shook his head quickly; desperate to please. The Queen took to circling him much like a wolf would do to a wounded doe. "I am the Snow Queen. Perhaps you have heard of me?" She asked, unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice.  
Peter didn't recount the rumors he heard about her mercilessness, nor did he turn to look at her as she paced around him. "They say my veins are full of melted snow, and that my heart," she ran her fingers up his spin, "is a block of ice." The boy shivered at the touch, feeling tendrils of cold surrounding him.  
The Snow Queen stopped in front of him, easily his height but somehow she seemed bigger. It must have been the way she carried herself. "They say I'm dead inside." She hissed. Peter swallowed at the lump in his throat, but didn't try to oppose her. Her hand closed around his, and she brought it up to her neck. "Do you wish to prove the theory that I am dead inside?" She asked. Peter said nothing, so she tilted her head and pressed his fingers to her neck where a pulse should have been.  
Forgetting his manners, Peter recoiled his hand; there was no pulse. _No life_. "Do you see why you are here now?" She asked, running her fingertips across his cheek. She pressed down suddenly, drawing blood. He made no sounds, but shut his eyes tightly. "I need pure, untainted blood to sustain me. You have just what I'm looking for."  
The Queen licked his blood from her finger, "I feel sorry for you, boy." She said. "You mustn't be any older than 15." "I am 15." He said hurriedly, though he didn't know why. "Pity." She said with a menacing grin. The teen gasped at the canines in her mouth; they were long and pointed, like the tips of daggers. "You're blood will keep me alive for years." She said.  
Slowly, and with flourish, she waved her hand in front of her face. Peter's body tensed up and he found that he could not move. She pushed his head to the side to reach his neck. He ran a finger over the vein, then without warning, bit down.  
Peter screamed internally as he was unable to open his mouth. The skin around where she bit turned a white color like her's, slowly spreading over him. The tanned skin from hours of manual labor vanished, leaving him pale and abnormal. The Snow Queen drew away, licking her scarlet stained lips with a smile.  
The boy crumpled to the floor where he lay, twitching and crying out in pain from the poison that surged through him like electricity. He watched in terror as the Queen transformed before his eyes. The snow-white skin turned a golden tan; the lifeless sheet of platinum hair turned into a shockingly vibrant red color, much like his own before she took his life. Her eyes turned a sky blue, making her seem human. She had taken his youth, his innocence, his life.  
The Queen was a beauty, and a horror.  
She laughed as she walked from the room, leaving him lying on the floor, clawing at the ground and retching as he felt what he thought to be was arteries collapsing. Finally, he slid onto his back and stared at the domed ceiling of the castle, his eyes open as they lost any light they had left. Peter never moved again, and no one ever found his body.


End file.
